


brightest light

by tentography



Series: spring, summer (and everything in between) [3]
Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, boop, final part of the series, johnkun are not the ones with a drug habit, johnny's a musician, kun is elsewhere, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of shitty parents, non-explicit first times, said shitty parents are homophobic, this fic is their summer continued - their past revisited - and their future explored
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentography/pseuds/tentography
Summary: Their summer had only just begun when Kun asks him to stay beneath the neon lights of the 7-eleven, bathing them in an electric mix of fluorescent white and bright orange-green-red.
Relationships: Suh Youngho | Johnny/Qian Kun
Series: spring, summer (and everything in between) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860382
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

Johnny's bones hurt. They always do when he wakes up in the morning. But now it's worse because it's fucking hot outside, so he's been waking up in his stifling bedroom with his bones hurting and his tank top sticky with sweat. The insulation in this house is absolute crap; his room is freezing cold in the winter and impossibly hot during the summer. He went to bed last night with his windows wide open, hoping for a little breeze to come in and cool off his room, but all it did was coax in the suffocating summer sun. And like the cherry on top of the dunghill that is his life, it still fucking smells like frying oil no matter how much he airs out his room. It hangs around him like a brand, doesn't leave him no matter how many times he showers or washes his clothes. No matter how long it has been since he quit his miserable job flipping burgers for minimum wage.

Maybe it's all in his head, though. It wouldn't be the first time.

He turns over onto his belly, pillow shushing the sharp wince at the sharp crack of his hipbone. Growing pains, among some of his other hurts. It's quiet in the house apart from the mosquito prowling around him, and his own breathing. He doesn't have to strain his ears to know that his parents aren't home. Off to work, off to make a living, off to somewhere else. He doesn't know what they're up to most days, and honestly, he can't seem to find it in himself to care.

Ah.

Busy. Away. Stay far away. Busy, don't go away. Stay, oh- stay. There's a beat that belongs to those words. A set of sounds he had mapped in his mind some time ago, probably even plotted it out on his laptop. He should write that down for later. Kun might even like it, too.

Johnny feels around for his phone, pawing around beneath his pillow, and then on the nightstand next to his bed. He's still not accustomed to his long limbs. That's what he says to himself as his phone, some change and a smattering of cash clatter to the floor from where he haphazardly emptied out his pockets last night, just as he fell face-first on his bed. He hangs over the side of his mattress to rescue his phone, not even bothering to get up and retrieve the rest. It's way too hot to move more than is strictly necessary.

Busking is tiring, but he earns more in a couple of hours on the streets on a good night than he used to during a night-shift at the burger joint. The local university students are very generous when they're drunk out of their minds, happy to relax and spread joy after their exams, and he's received fat wads of cash from lonely businessmen on more than one occasion. Being an adult seems hard, but Johnny can't wait till he's eighteen. With school out of the way, he'll finally have the time to go on auditions, maybe even stop busking in the dead of night. It'll be good. It’ll better at least. It will have to be.

He never tells Kun when and where he goes singing anymore, though, because he would want to come too, even though he can't. Kun said his parents don't want him hanging around on the streets that late at night. Johnny thinks it's kind of funny how they care so much considering they're never around to reinforce the rule anyway.

"But aren't they away on business right now?" he'd ask and Kun would shake his head. "They might come back tonight."

Johnny doesn't know if they ever do come home, because Kun never tells him when they're around. He only hears about Kun's parents when they've already left again (if then), but Kun is easy to read. Johnny can spot the dejected set of his jaw and his furrowed eyebrows from miles away. His expression says enough.

So Johnny doesn't tell Kun anymore whenever he's planning on busking if only to stop him from looking so sad and guilty all the time. It's not like he's doing anything particularly special. He's just singing on the sidewalk.

He yawns against the morning sun poking at his eyes from outside as he types the silly lyric in his notes app. He throws his phone in the fray of his bed and burrows his face in his pillow when he's done writing as much as he could still remember, and then his ears focus in on someone on the block watching tv. A bird chirps outside his wide-open windows along with the jingle of the morning news, and just like that he catches the broadcast through the thin walls of the apartment building, his sleep-fogged mind doing its best to register the information.

It'll be hot out, and even hotter still later on in the day. There are children in need somewhere in a faraway country, people fighting wars over causes that go way beyond him, and the South-Korean election season is starting soon. But Johnny still has his American passport and he is definitely not old enough to vote, so he isn't even going to pretend to care about politics. The tv cuts to a different channel right when the news anchors start to discuss the stock market and Johnny can't help but snort into his pillow. Something about POSCO and Samsung- fuck if he knows. He's willing to bet that Kun knows, though. Maybe he'll go over today and ask him all about it. If he still remembers by then. He rolls out of his bed with a final stretch, carefully jumping over the blanket he must've kicked off his bed during the night, and stumbles out of his room.

It's dark in the hallway, it's dark as he makes his way through the living room and it's even darker in the empty kitchen. He can't even see his toes or where he's walking, but it's fine because he knows the route by now after a scant year of living in this hell-hole. He only slams face-first into doors whenever his dad leaves the bathroom door wide open after he's done with his business, ever the forgetful parent. His mom and dad like to keep the curtains tightly shut, so naturally, Johnny has got his own blinds open at all times. He only regrets it some days. There must be at least a handful of people in the apartment block who know a little bit too much about him.

He scratches at a new mosquito bite on his chest as he walks into the dark and relatively cool kitchen, the tiles delightfully cold beneath his feet. There's an apple on the dinner table next to yesterday's newspaper, but Johnny ignores it even though it looks delicious and he hasn't had an apple in a good fucking minute. He perks up when he remembers that he should still have a can of his coffee. But his excitement dies down real quick in the short second it takes him to cross the kitchen and glance inside the nearly empty fridge. All there's left are some stray vegetables and a plate his mom has left for his dad to eat tonight, neatly wrapped in foil.

Oh well.

Johnny pads back to his room, squinting at the sunlight peeking through the trees outside his window as he picks up the coins and bills scattered all over his floor. He's earned enough by now to buy himself a new laptop, or even get more equipment. But in all honesty, he doesn't know how much longer he can do this, doesn't know how much longer he can stretch himself thin like this, trying to juggle school, his job and his passion for music without losing his goddamn mind. 

He bites back another yawn and the movement has him noticing the faint imprint of Kun's number still visible on his arm, the address already fully faded away a few days ago. To no one's surprise, Kun had been right when he'd said that the permanent marker would be a bitch to wash off. It's been a handful of days since he wrote down Kun's information on the inside of his forearm and the last three digits of his phone number are still visible no matter how hard he had tried to scrub it away to prove Kun wrong.

Either way, it wouldn't have mattered if it had all washed off when he came home from the café that day after Kun invited him to come over during their break. Johnny already knew all of his info by heart by the time he was home.

Kun will be so pleased to know that he was right about the marker. Johnny can already hear the 'I told you so' falling from Kun's lips, his mouth upturned in amusement followed by a fleeting concern he'll have for his health. (Aren't permanent markers full of toxic chemicals? You shouldn't have written on your skin!) The thought of Kun stressing about something so insignificant gets him right up on his feet, propelling him into the shower to get ready for the day. He's out the door within ten minutes, his tote filled to the brim with his notebooks and laptop, his gig bag slung across his back, and the 10 o'clock sun beaming at his rapidly-drying hair from above.

It takes Johnny a little while to get across the river into Kun's area of the city. In part, because it's fucking hot out and he can't be bothered to walk faster in the heat, and in part because they really do live far away from each other. He's damp with sweat by the time he arrives at the apartment building, and he's almost sure it took him a full hour to make the walk (so what if he got lost a few times, his phone GPS sucks and its a winding road). Though, Kun's place is less of a building and more of an entire complex of tower blocks attached to each other through fucking sky-ways. He can even spot a doorman in the lobby on the other side of the building entrance.

There's about a billion of numbers and buttons sprawled across the perimeter of the vestibule and Johnny's about two seconds away from having a panic attack. He tries to look through the apartment numbers listed, looking for a sign of the name 'Qian' or the number 1208, but he's more than a little nervous at the prospect of even entering this building and the doorman keeps glancing at him from the other side of the glass doors. Johnny doesn't know if the doorman's ogling him because he knows that he's freaking the fuck out right now or if he thinks he doesn't fucking belong here and wants him out. He would've been sprawled across the floor if it wasn't for the air conditioning cooling him down at full blast, battling the sweat at his temples, and the well-dressed lady striding inside with a fluffy dog hopping around at her shiny yellow shoes. Johnny can't help but smile at the sight.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says because he always tries to be polite, especially to people who inadvertently stave off his meltdowns. "I like your dog."

She laughs, he thinks, because the sound she makes is little more than a huff of air. But he can tell by the way she crinkles his nose at him that she's at the very least mildly amused. "Thanks, kid. Are you here on a visit?"

"Yes, but I'm having a little trouble finding the apartment," he answers, gesturing at the buttons lined around them in neat columns.

She looks him over once, coaxing the impossibly fluffy dog in her arms. "I'll help you out. What's your friends' name or apartment number."

"It's Qian, number 1208," Johnny says, noticing how well-trained the dog is.

That makes her pause, her dangly earrings jostling by the movement. "Qian, huh. Come on, I'll let you in." The dog jumps to the floor. She turns to the glass sliding doors, then, and she doesn't even have to use the key fob in her hand because the doorman is already rushing to open the doors for her. The lady steps through without another look at him or the doorman, gesturing at Johnny to follow her with a flick of her hand. 

That's odd, he thinks, bowing at the doorman who gives him a crooked but friendly smile. It'd probably do him good to investigate this whole 'Qian' situation later. He kind of feels like having that panic attack anyway as they enter the elevator that manages to be even fucking colder than the climate-regulated air in the lobby. The lady - Mrs Choi according to the doorman's greeting - is wearing expensive perfume, probably. He's kind of choking on the smell now that they're in the enclosed space of the elevator together, no music or sounds except for the soft panting of her dog and the rustling of her shopping bags. The dog looks at him then, with its beady little eyes and little tongue peeking through the mess of curls, and that's enough to push Johnny into pressing the button for the twelfth floor despite the way he is burning hot with nerves.

x

Johnny kind of wants to cry when he walks back home from Kun's house that night.

It had been good. Great even. It had been really, really nice together, watching stupid videos on Kun's laptop, ogling Kun as he browsed through his alphabetically organised bookshelves, his fingertips rhythmically tapping along their leather spines to the beat of his guitar but-

But now he has to go home again.

x

Kun is always busy with something, Johnny notices. Most of the time, Kun will be reading when Johnny glances over at him from where he is sitting on the floor. He'll be sprawled on the couch, either actively avoiding the sunny spot or practically basking in it, the sunlight almost blindingly bright on the white pages of his novels. Sometimes he will be messing around on his laptop playing a game, doing online shopping, or even playing his flight simulation thing. (Kun keeps insisting it's not a game, though.) And if he's not busy with that, he'll be researching recipes, or catching up with the news on the New York Times website to practice his English. Johnny doesn't even know why he was so surprised to find that Kun has a subscription in the first place.

But sometimes, Johnny catches Kun staring at him. During the blazing hot early afternoon over the rim of his iced tea, or even in the low light of the fancy designer lamp by the couch at night; Kun will just look, and look, and look. It's not nearly as distracting as Johnny makes it out to be. He'll just bow over his guitar a little more, digging his toes in the plush carpet in the hopes that Kun doesn't see how much the attention makes him burn. Then he gets lost writing all about it in his notebook, busily scribbling some gibberish about dimples or eyebrow moles that makes perfect sense to him in one minute, and in the next, he'll be struggling to decipher his own handwriting. He's almost filled up his entire notebook in the two days he's been coming over.

The melodies come easy, too. They could be busy cooking dinner and it'll hit him like a freight train, rushing out of the kitchen, into the hall, down to the living room where his phone is charging to plug it out from the socket and hum whatever he can still remember into his shitty iPhone. Then he'll run back to the kitchen to finish chopping the vegetables for the dish Kun's planning on making only to see that Kun's already finished it up, humming away at the stove while he stirs.

"Did you record it on time?" Kun asks, his eyes not leaving the pan bubbling away at the stove, but when it takes a little while for Johnny to answer he tacks on a worried "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I managed to catch most of it," Johnny answers eventually, sneaking up behind Kun to leave a soft kiss at his nape where his hair is growing a little longer than usual now that it's their summer break. "It smells delicious."

"Thank you," Kun laughs, his shoulder shooting up at Johnny's tickling touch.

Sometimes, Johnny catches Kun humming his own songs. It doesn't even look like Kun knows that he's doing it, too, like just then in the kitchen. But Johnny knows, though. He knows that it would be fine if Kun turns out to be the only person in the world who enjoys his music.

x

Their summer had only just begun when Kun asks him to stay beneath the neon lights of the 7-eleven, bathing them in an electric mix of fluorescent white and bright orange-green-red. Johnny's hands are sticky and wet from the Popsicle melting all over his fingers and he can feel his cheeks burn despite the coldness of the treat.

"Okay," Johnny answers when he actually wants to blurt out a pathetic 'thank you' and 'no one has ever wanted me to'. He doesn't know if he's supposed to do something, if he's allowed to reach out and kiss Kun stupid like he wants to right here in the middle of the street. But Kun's shaky fingers slide in his own before he can make any rash decisions and they walk back to the apartment amongst the sounds of light traffic, the sweetness of melting ice cream, and giddy laughter.

It's just past nine when he toes out of his sneakers, and he has work in the morning so he really should be sleeping soon anyway if you think about it, is what he tells Kun when the door locks behind them with a definitive beep.

"Yeah, right." Kun snorts, shaking his head as he rushes past him to put away their freshly bought popsicles in the freezer.

Johnny follows after him, resisting the urge to wipe his sticky hand on his shorts. "You don't want to have an early night?"

"It's not even fully dark outside," Kun laughs, his voice a little higher than usual, unceremoniously throwing their frozen treats in the freezer.

"We can close the blinds," Johnny tries again as he washes his hands, making space for Kun so he can join him at the sink, not leaving when he's done himself. Just so he can crowd Kun against the kitchen counter, close enough to smell the sunshine on Kun's shoulders, close enough to almost taste the sugary chocolate ice cre- _oof_! Unfortunately, also close enough to receive Kun's elbow to his ribs.

"You can go to bed early. I want to watch a movie," Kun says without a care over the sound of Johnny's ouches as he wriggles away and pads out of the kitchen.

Johnny can't help but follow him into the living room, absentmindedly rubbing his chest. He could swear he saw a mottled rosy blush on Kun's face just now. "What are we watching?"

"Oh, so now you're interested?" Kun asks, turning to Johnny to quirk a perfect brow at him and oh- yeah, yeah he's blushing. "I don't know, I've got a bunch of DVDs. Showers first, though."

Kun's word is the law, so Johnny lets Kun push him down the hall, through his bedroom door and into his en-suite bathroom. It all happens so fast he can’t even take a proper look at Kun's room. But it's fine, he'll have enough time for that later. Kun shows him how the shower works, where the towels are, where to put his dirty clothes, tells him to separate his whites and colours or _else_. And then he's right out the door before Johnny even has the chance to ask for a fresh set of clothes for him to change in when he’s done.

Johnny takes a quick shower despite the eighth world wonder that is Kun's shower; it has pressure so perfect that his muscles feel like complete goo and an actually reliable heat regulator. Unlike his own shower, mounted so low on the wall that he has to bow down to wash his hair with its mere two water settings: cold as fuck and hot as balls. He probably could've fallen right asleep standing beneath the magical thing, but the knowledge that Kun was waiting for him somewhere right on the other side of the door had him hyper-focused. Maybe even a little nervous. Okay, definitely a lot nervous.

He manages to emerge from the bathroom with a towel around his waist within a handful of minutes to find Kun paused at his bedroom door, his arms clutched around his laptop.

“You okay?” Johnny asks, stepping into the cold room.

Kun only grunts in reply before rushing past him, plopping down his laptop, charger and a handful of DVDs on his bed. He’s not even looking at Johnny when he points towards a stack of neatly folded clothes at the foot of his bed. “You can change into this. Check my closet if it doesn’t fit, or if you want to wear something else. Pick a movie while I take a shower.”

Then he’s gone, the door of his bathroom falling shut and locking behind him. Johnny doesn’t bother to hide his smirk in the empty room while he gets dressed in the soft pyjama set Kun laid out for him. Kun’s so fucking easy to read.

Johnny settles on Kun’s large bed when he’s finished getting dressed in a soft pyjama shirt and shorts, thinking it can fit the two of them easily. He browses through the six DVDs Kun had picked out for them, but honestly, he is so _not_ in the mood to be watching anything other than the red hue that seems to be ever-present on Kun’s face tonight. He decides on a blockbuster movie that looks interesting enough to watch, but generic enough that they can easily ignore it. After all, he’s fairly certain they’re just going to make out. Fingers crossed.

It isn’t long until the bathroom door opens and Kun walks out in a cloud smelling of citrus-cedar and soapy steam, dressed in light blue linen pyjamas. “Did you pick something?” he asks, throwing his towel over Johnny’s at his desk chair.

“Yeah,” Johnny says distractedly, having a hard time following Kun’s words when he’s looking so.. So... So homely.

“Okay.” Kun slides in next to him, his laptop the only thing between them.

Johnny presses play right as Kun hits the lights. They’re on each other before the opening credits even finish and Kun deftly pushes away his laptop to the foot of his bed. Their furtive glances and shy touches of earlier long gone, hands travelling across places they haven’t mapped out yet. The kissing is familiar, but the nervous giggles morphing into short gasps as they try to figure out what to do sure as hell are new.

Kun is warm pressed beneath Johnny on the bed and he cups Johnny’s cheek with a touch so tender that it makes Johnny want to burst, thumb brushing the slightly bumpy skin of Johnny’s chin. "Do you- Would you want to try some things? With me?"

Johnny almost passes out right then and there at Kun's glossy eyes and spit-stained lips, looking at him like he hung the moon. But he would find a way to do it if Kun asked, would do anything so Kun will never ever stop looking at him like that. Instead, he whispers back, leaning into Kun's touch, pressing them closer to one another. "Yeah. Have you ever..?"

"Never," Kun says softly, biting at his lip.

“Me neither,” Johnny confides with a grin, his fingers ghosting over Kun’s collarbones. "But I'd like to, with you."

He has thought about this before, as he watched Kun calculate equations across from him at the café, in the privacy of his bedroom late at night, sometimes even during class, and very often when he's trying to focus on the weight of his guitar in his lap. He'll be going about his day when his mind races back to Kun, his lips, his smile. How it would feel to be wrapped up in Kun's embrace; from the tips of their noses to their knocking knees, ankles hooked around one another. But nothing could've prepared him for the real deal, though. Nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

Kun is warm against him. Not cloyingly warm or sickly summer hot, but comforting and reassuring even though Johnny feels like he’s been set ablaze. The weight of Kun’s arm thrown over his back coaxing him impossibly closer, anchoring him in this moment and not letting him go.

Kun's lips chase after his when he breaks their kiss for air, his eyes are red and his cheeks are even redder and _god_ Johnny doesn't want to know what he looks like right now. He only hopes he looks half as good as Kun does in the scattered moonlight coming in from the blinds.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Johnny blurts out because he really doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He only knows that he wants more of this, more of them together.

But Kun crinkles his nose at him and smiles. "Me neither. But it's fine, isn't it? We can figure things out as we go."

"Is this okay?" Johnny’s fingers skirt along the soft expanse of Kun's belly, quivering beneath his palm at the touches. He tries to focus on the tickle of Kun's still damp hair against his cheeks, on the whirring of the air conditioning cooling down the room.

"Yeah," Kun gasps out, mouthing at his ear as he grips the elastic of Johnny's shorts. "Can I?"

Kun is a fast learner and an even better teacher. It helps that his hands are soft, too. Johnny tells him just that as he melts in Kun’s caresses, slotting against him like he was put on this earth for the sole reason to find Kun. To find Kun waiting for him in the rain all those months ago.

Kun noses at his cheek, clinging to his pyjama shirt. "Shut up, _ah_ -"

Johnny has always been a more tactile student, though, preferring to learn through example. He is especially good with his hands, despite his rough calluses from all his guitar playing. It’s good that Kun doesn't seem to mind them very much, though.

X

It's on the second night that he's been staying over at Kun's house when they're hanging out on the balcony watching the sun go down, that Johnny realizes how silly they are.

"Hey," Kun starts, and Johnny has to strain his ears to hear Kun's whispers over the sounds of the city settling down for the night. "Are we dating? I mean, are weー You're my boyfriend, right?"

Johnny cocks his head at Kun, his hands clutching the cool steel of the rails. It bites at his overheated skin, but he finds that it grounds him as he tries to gauge Kun's mood. But it's a little hard to read his expression when Kun's not looking at him, though, his head and arms dangling precariously over the balcony rails, fixated on watching the traffic below them roll by.

He shrugs, even though Kun can't see him do it, and bumps his hip against Kun's. "I sure hope so after last night. You've got to take responsibility."

Kun snorts at that and he takes his time to stand up straight again, his hair flopping back in its place as he lets all the blood flow back to the rest of his body. He is a little unstable on his feet when he walks over to the rattan couch in the corner of the balcony, nestled between an assortment of both potted and hanging plants.

"It's just that," Kun sighs as he sits down and pulls his feet up, patting at the open space next to him in an invitation. "We never talked about it, you know. I wanted to be sure."

It’s odd. Johnny doesn’t recount a time in the past where Kun has sounded this uncertain about anything. He hates everything about it, wants to kick himself for making Kun feel this way. Instead, he goes right for the couch, pulling Kun into his arms. “You’re my boyfriend, and I am yours.”

Kun settles against Johnny, resting his head on his shoulder. "We didn't even have each other's numbers until last week."

"In my defence, I have never seen you use your phone, ever. I was starting to think you used pigeon post to keep in touch with people," Johnny jokes, mumbling the words into Kun’s fluffy hair. Kun smacks him on his arm. "I didn't think to ask until I realized we wouldn’t see each other over the break.”

Kun hums, burrowing closer. "Thank you for asking me to hang out."

"You're overthinking things again," Johnny chuckles, pressing a kiss to Kun’s ear.

"I can't help it," Kun says, and Johnny can hear the pout in his voice.

"I know," Johnny sighs out. "You don't have to think about anything. Not when it’s just you and me."

"Okay, good." Kun sags against Johnny's side, the tension finally leaving his body.

"Good," Johnny echoes, his fingers skirting over Kun's hand clutched over his knee, taking it in his own.

The sun goes down at a steady pace, bright red and blazing orange before mottling into a curtain of dark purple and indigo. Johnny thinks Kun might have fallen asleep next to him, his breaths steady and soft, but he doesn't want to check in case the movement wakes him up. Not after Kun spent all day with his nose in his complicated books. He deserves a little break. But Kun speaks, then, murmuring the words against the skin of his shoulder.

"Do we still have popsicles?"

Johnny bites his tongue before he can laugh, not expecting a question about popsicles of all things. "There were five in the pack we bought yesterday and we each had two after dinner. It's late, though, you'll get a tummy ache."

Kun slides into his flipflops and stretches as he gets up, his t-shirt riding up a bit at his stomach, exposing untanned skin. Johnny has half the mind to realize it would do him well to look away, but he doesn't. Instead, he watches on in rapt attention as Kun curls his fingers around the cold steel of the balcony railing, one finger after another. He can't look away when Kun closes his eyes against the twinkling lights of the cityscape stretched out in front of them and leans into the cool breeze that passes by. Johnny shivers. He'll never be the same after tonight.

Kun purses his lips in contemplation, or maybe even in mischief, before turning to him with a grin, all languid and perfect against the dark sky. "Wanna share the last one?"

A car honks from somewhere down below. Johnny doesn't know if the buzzing he hears is coming from between his ears or if there are mosquitos on the prowl. "Yeah, I do."

x

The unforgiving pitter-pat of rain tapping against the car window wakes Johnny from a restless sleep.

Blinking at the foggy morning city blurred in a mess of rainwater, he briefly wonders if God is playing some kind of sick joke on him. He burrows deeper into his sweater hoodie, turning away from the window as he fishes his earphones from his pocket.

"We're forty minutes away from the airport, so try to sleep while you still can. You're not going to get much rest on tour," his manager calls out to him from the front and Johnny only has half the mind to grunt out a response.

He plugs in his earphones, playing a soothing song loud enough to drown out any and all sounds around him.

There had been a time when he could've wept at the sight of a light drizzle, a few years ago already. When the sound of hail hitting asphalt or the smell of an oncoming storm would've swelled in his heart and poured out of his eyes in sheer delight. But that had been a different time. That had been before he had to grow up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm staggering the chapter releases so that the final chapter will be up on the last day of Johnkun week (dec 13). I can't believe this fic is ending soon ahhhh
> 
> You can find me [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/19250520x) nowadays. (I accidentally permanently deleted my old twt during a hiatus, lol) I hope you liked reading this, and that you are safe mentally physically emotionally ❤ take care of yourself and of each other. Love u.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags, pls check em out before reading! nothing all too serious, i think!

"Oh, crap." Johnny curses as he shoots up from the floor, his notebook and pencil falling in the carpet at his feet.

Kun barely looks up from his laptop, typing out another sentence or two before blinking curiously at him. "What?"

"I left my MIDI keyboard at home."

"You've bought it already?" Kun asks excitedly, and Johnny kind of wants to kiss him for that.

"Yeah, haven't had the chance to use it yet, though." Johnny nods, running a hand through his hair. He can almost pull it into a ponytail.

"We can go get it if you want?" Kun suggests, closing his laptop. "Maybe grab some of your clothes while we're there."

"Why? You don't like me wearing your clothes?" Johnny jokes, looking down at his borrowed outfit consisting of Kun's t-shirt, Kun's boxers, and his own shorts.

"You know that's not true," Kun splutters as he hauls himself off the couch, pouting when Johnny pulls him close. But he doesn't protest when Johnny kisses his cheek. In fact, he turns his head just enough to catch Johnny's lips in his own, kissing him sweetly.

"I know, I'm just messing with you," Johnny mumbles against Kun's lips, pecking him on the nose for good measure.

Kun rolls his eyes and wipes his nose on Johnny's shoulder, decidedly ignoring his protests. "So, do you want to go or not?"

"If you're sure? It's a long way across the river and it's super hot out."

"Yeah, let's go."

Just like that, they gather their keys and hats (as per Kun's insistence) chatting idly about the movie they watched last night. Johnny needles Kun a few more times to check if he's really up for a long walk in the sun, but Kun insists that he'll be fine. And yet-

"This was a fucking mistake." Kun groans, adjusting his baseball cap for the millionth time in the ten short minutes that they've been walking.

In his defence, though, it is unbearably warm and awfully humid today, even more so than the day before. Johnny can feel sweat dripping down his back with every step he takes, can even feel the cloying heat in his fucking throat. But it isn't often that he's right and Kun's wrong. He's absolutely going to milk it for as long as Kun can bear it.

"Told ya," Johnny laughs, throwing his arm over Kun's shoulder, pulling him flush against his own overheated body.

"Johnny, stop." Kun whines, slapping weakly at his limbs, doing his best to extract himself from Johnny's strong grip.

"It's not that bad." Johnny chuckles, his own hat knocking against Kun's as he drags them along the busy street.

"It is, though." Kun struggles against him, trying very hard not to blush at their proximity. Not that anyone would see since his face is already flushed from the unbearable heat.

"You can still go back, I can get it by myself," Johnny offers as he drags them to a less crowded spot in the shade before finally letting go of Kun. 

"No, I want to go with you," Kun says, half-heartedly fanning himself with his hand. "I mean, unless you don't want me to come. I'd understand."

"Why are you freaking out? I want you to come, but only if you want to," Johnny says, biting the inside of his cheek at Kun's anxious words. He suppresses a sigh, not wanting Kun to think that he's annoyed at him instead of the people who made him this skittish. Annoyed Kun is infinitely better than Sad Kun, so he pushes Kun's baseball cap down at the visor and jumps away before he can elbow him in the ribs.

Kun doesn't even seem to be thinking about retaliation, though, only adjusting his cap with a half-shrug as he trails after Johnny at a sluggish pace. "I don't know. I thought maybe you wouldn't want me to come 'cause your parents could be home or something."

Johnny hums as he thinks over Kun's words. "I'm pretty sure they won't be home. It doesn't matter even if they're around. I don't care."

That seems to settle it, Johnny thinks, because Kun just looks at him for a second, and whatever he sees on his face reassures him enough to nod decisively.

Then he's striding off. "I want a soda!"

"We're never gonna get to my house like this," Johnny yells after Kun, watching him run into the closest 7-eleven on their side of the street, but Kun only turns to him with a smile.

"Are you complaining? Do you not want a soda pop?" Kun asks with a quirk of his brow.

And, really, how can Johnny ever say no to that face. Or to the cherry-coke flavored kisses that are sure to follow.

"Not at all."

What should have been an hour-long walk (at most) to Johnny's apartment block turns into a three-hour adventure.

Kun, Johnny comes to find, is very easily distracted when he's overcome by the heat. They wander in and out of nearly every convenience store they pass by, at Kun's insistence, and Johnny has to pull Kun away from more than one bookstore. Too afraid that Kun's going to buy a crapton of books, and then complain about having to carry them around in today's billion degree weather AKA the average temperature of Satan’s asshole.

To be fair, it probably also doesn't help that Johnny keeps dragging them into every nook and cranny of the city to make out with him. Chasing after the sweetness Johnny knows Kun keeps behind every complaint that falls from his lips about the heat or the busy streets. (Tasting just like cherry-coke, as he expected.)

It also doesn't help that when they're finally at his block, Johnny's swiftly spotted by a gaggle of neighborhood kids, running over to tug them towards the playground with a variety of cries and pleads accumulating in a deafening chorus of 'Johnny-hyung, we need your help!'

It turns out there's a new kid in the neighborhood who tripped over and fell while they were playing a game of soccer. It also turns out that the other neighborhood kids don't know how to help because they don't know where he lives and don't know how to find his mom and they can't understand him, because he's Chinese and would they _please_ help because he's crying. Johnny swears a few of the other kids are ready to cry themselves, too.

He watches on as Kun swoops in to save the day, crouching down to help the kid up, dusting off the dirt from his Ninja Turtle shorts as he ushers them to a set of benches. The other boys rush over to watch as Kun and the kid talk, and Johnny remembers, then, that he should probably stop staring and join them.

"Is he okay?" Johnny asks Kun, plopping next to him on the wooden bench.

Kun nods, helping the kid keep his phone, too big for his own tiny hands, at his ear while he calls his mom.

"He's fine," Kun says, smiling at the other boys sitting at their feet on the foam-tiled ground. Then he turns to Johnny and whispers. "He feels guilty."

"For what?" Johnny asks, leaning in.

"Stopping the game and worrying everyone."

"That's silly."

"I told him to be happy because he made friends who worry for him," Kun says, and then he laughs. "He's now telling his mom to come pick him up, but also that she shouldn't worry because he's made friends."

Up close, Johnny can see the genuine happiness on Kun's face clear as day, his relief at the entire situation. How glad he is that he's able to help.

"You're awesome, you know that, right?" Johnny rushes out, whispering the words right at Kun's ear.

It’s amazing how quickly Kun turns red. Johnny swears he can feel the extra heat as Kun shrugs and ducks his head. Johnny would've kissed him silly if they weren't outside right now and sitting in front of all these kids.

"Let's introduce them to each other," Kun says when the kid’s done calling his mother, turning to them with big brown eyes.

So, they all sit together to chat, stoked to finally be able to talk to each other with Kun as their translator.

"How old are you?"

"Do you like Pokemon?"

"The Ninja Turtles are cool."

"Thank you for asking me to play soccer."

"Have you ever seen a panda?"

"What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"

But it isn't long until the kid's mother comes running, all ready with a water bottle and a first-aid kit. 

"Come play tomorrow, too, okay!"

"O-okay. Tomorrow," the kid says in Korean after being coached by Kun and eagerly cheered on by Johnny, and just like that the little crisis on the playground is resolved.

Until the kids turn their big eyes on Johnny and Kun.

"Hyungs, play with us! We need a new goalie."

"Please, Johnny-hyung? Kun-hyung? Just for one game?"

Really, they couldn't refuse.

Their stomachs grumble when they finally manage to escape the clutches of the elementary school kids who are surely powered by the force of the sun. All but collapsing in Johnny’s foyer when they shuffle into the cool darkness of Johnny's apartment number thirty-nine.

"Hi MTV, and welcome to my crib," Johnny sighs out as he kicks out of his shoes, barely finding the strength within himself to make the joke.

Kun makes a confused noise as he steps out of his sneakers. "What?"

Johnny snorts. "Never mind, my room's this way." 

He leads them down the dark foyer to the even darker hall, but there's a familiar slither of light pooling beneath his bedroom door that reassures him in a way it never has before.

"This is where the magic happens," Johnny says as he opens the door to his room, and he sounds disgustingly nervous even to his own ears. It's not as if his room is super messy, it's only mildly messy at most, really, with some clothes on the floor that he forgot to put in his hamper. Most of the floor is cleared, and only his desk is a bit of a mess what with all the school books and summer hand-outs he tipped out of his bag and didn't spare another glance at. He's had worse weeks where it looked as if a tornado ripped through these four walls. Kun probably won't say a single thing about it, anyway.

"Yeah? What kind of magic is that?" Kun snorts as he walks past Johnny and into the room, but then he stops dead in his tracks. "Holy shit."

Johnny's heart plummets and he begins to explain himself. "I didn't have time to-"

"You've got one of those blade fans!" Kun cuts him off, turning to him with wide eyes. "Can I turn it on?"

"Knock yourself out," Johnny says, a little breathless, and before the words are even out Kun's already commandeered a spot on the bed right next to the fan with an excited cheer, saying something to himself about wanting one for his room, too.

It's already close to dinner time when Johnny finally packs up his MIDI and whatever clothes that seem appropriate for the rest of his summer, while Kun yells nonsense into the fan, laughing at the distorted sounds.

It starts with a few 'aahs' and 'oohs' when Johnny's picking up his dirty laundry from his floor, and then a 'let's buy some fruit on the way back!' followed by an 'I'm starving! Johnny, hurry up!' when he's picking out clean clothes from his closet. Kun adds an 'I'm kidding, take your time!' when Johnny has stuffed all that he needs into his gym bag, zipping it up when Kun finally settles for a series of 'I want popsicles!' in quick succession. He quickly grows sick of it, though, falling face down on Johnny's bed, too tired from all the screaming and playing around today.

"Smells like you," Kun mumbles, all too happy to just lie there and not move a muscle.

Johnny watches him from where he's sitting on the floor. He decides that Kun makes for quite the sight all tangled up between his sheets. "What do I smell like, then?"

Kun thinks about it for a second, rubbing his face in Johnny's pillows, sighing contentedly. "Like flowers in the sun."

"Really?" Johnny asks, standing up to fish his phone from his pocket, sneaking a quick picture of Kun in his bed, the sound of the fan spinning around and around masking the click of his shutter.

Kun makes a low noise in his throat, one eye popping open to beckon Johnny to bed. "Really."

Johnny can't say no to an invitation like that, not hesitating to flop down right next to Kun.

"I'm ready to go," he says into the skin of Kun's back, but Kun only shuffles closer, tangling his legs between Johnny's.

"Just a second," Kun mumbles, wiggling his toes against Johnny's calves, making him yelp at the tickling sensation.

Johnny rolls them over, trapping Kun beneath him with ease. Hauling around his equipment all the time is good for something after all.

Kun leans up, right when Johnny bows down and they meet each other for a slow kiss, languid and unhurried after the busy day they had. They're a bit sticky, smelling like sweat and sand, and there's only barely a trace left of Kun's last soda on his tongue. He can tell that Kun's a bit sunburnt at his shoulders by the way he winces just _so_ when Johnny pulls him closer, and he feels that tell-tale sting in his own neck, too.

It's funny how they spent all that time avoiding the heat, only to be outside for hours on what must be the hottest day of their entire summer. Johnny tells Kun just that, whispers the words against his mouth and they have to break apart because they're both laughing way too hard about it.

The weather is much more bearable at this hour, exemplified by the way that Kun doesn't kick Johnny away and instead only pulls him closer. But Johnny can tell by the way that Kun worries at his lip that he's thinking about something serious.

"Your parents know, don't they? That you're bisexual?" Kun asks, smiling at him a little sadly.

Johnny shifts to lie next to Kun on his side and Kun follows his movement. "Yeah, they do."

"Is that why you moved?" Kun asks, propping himself up on his elbow, his other hand travelling across the expanse of Johnny's chest to lace his fingers between Johnny's.

"Kind of," Johnny starts, scrunching his nose at the memory. "My dad's sister asked my parents to come back to South Korea to help with her restaurant business and my parents wouldn't let me stay with my cousins in the States. They weren't gonna let their only son become a gay musician - their words, not mine."

"That's awful." Kun sighs, squeezing his hand.

Johnny only shrugs, leaning in to kiss away the frown lines between Kun's eyebrows. "Why'd you move?"

"I don't know," Kun says and he sounds deceptively calm. But its clear by the way his jaw tightens just a tinge that he's anything but calm.

"They didn't tell you?" he asks, voice low.

"No," Kun starts, leaning down to rest his head on Johnny's chest. "They just.. told me one day and we were here in the next. I have a hunch, though."

Johnny waits for him to continue, combing his fingers through Kun's dark brown hair.

"My parents don't- They didn't get married because they love each other. In fact, they don't like each other at all." Kun laughs, and it's a broken sound. Then he continues in a soft whisper. "I think they don't really like me, either. I think that's why they're never around."

It’s quiet in the room, save for his blade fan and there’s about a million of things that Johnny wants to say to Kun. Instead, he sits up, forcing Kun up with him. He cradles Kun’s face in his hands, his heart tugging at the way Kun nuzzles into his touch.

"I'm sorry your parents fucking suck," he says, but that doesn't even cover half of the things that Johnny wants to say about Kun's parents. But he bites his tongue, because what good would that do for Kun?

Kun laughs, though, and its a genuinely happy sound. Johnny can feel the rumble of it in his hands, the soft tickle warming him right up.

"I'm sorry your parents fucking suck, too." Kun echoes right back.

A harsh summer rain taps in big fat droplets against the windows of the bus they're riding back to Kun's apartment. Shoulder to shoulder, at the very back, Johnny's watching the pouring rain, Kun's hair tickling his shoulder while he busily reads the news on his phone. It's awfully humid inside, and it smells like sweat and dirty rainwater, but Johnny feels light nevertheless. 

It isn't a long drive back to Kun's house, but it feels like the road ahead of them is never-ending. With fewer worries on their minds than yesterday, Johnny sits with a gym bag full of his crap at his feet, and Kun sits next to him with a watermelon in his lap. Together, they’re on their way to another adventure.

x

The sound of rustling curtains jostled by the hands of a cool breeze has Johnny looking up from his laptop. His neck kind of hurts from being hunched over on the floor, and he doesn't know how long he's been busy copying his notebooks scribbles to his laptop. He remembers Kun tugging him away from his work for lunch, but everything after that is kind of a blur. It must've been a little while already because Kun was still awake last time he checked. Now, though, he's sleeping soundly on the sunny spot on the couch, his hands loosely gripping his novel, the sun pooling all around him.

There's the flutter of the pale linens, sounds of chirping birds outside, the humming of his own laptop; he wants it all to be silent for now. No one should disturb this scene.

Kun's face is peaceful when he is asleep, the perpetual etch between his eyebrows finally smoothed out. Johnny knows he doesn't do it on purpose, though, knows that the heavy expectations of Kun's parents weigh him down, that everything he does is to make his parents look at him for once. Just once would be enough. But Johnny will look at Kun, even if his parents won't.

Every time Johnny manages to coax a smile on Kun's face or even a slight quirk of his plump lips is a personal victory for him. He considers himself a man on a mission. A knight in shining armour perhaps? Wielding his guitar like a sword, his threadbare clothes doubling as chain mail. He should never speak these words to Kun. He'd definitely laugh right in his face, but wouldn't that be a sight to see?

Johnny silently closes his laptop and stashes away his guitar and notebook. He shuffles closer on his hands and knees across the plush carpet, eyes fixated on the little hairs strewn across Kun's forehead stirred by the wind like an invitation. He carefully rests his head on the couch, edging on the outskirts of the sunny spot, not wanting to tarnish the perfect frame. He watches Kun's serene face, peeks at him through his lashes. He looks, and looks, and looks - cataloguing every slope, every acne scar, the little mole beneath his eyebrow and the barest hint of whiskers on Kun's perfect and sleep-soft face.

There's a lot of things Johnny's angry about, a lot of things he wished were different. There are things he doesn't understand, things he can't wrap his head around no matter how many times he thinks them over in his head. But things never make sense as much as they do when he's with Kun. Rarely does he feel this good in his own skin. He wouldn't trade this for the world. He wouldn't know what to do with himself, really, if he didn't have Kun. 

It's almost dinner time. Johnny should probably wake him up if they still want to eat before going to the summer fair. But he's sleeping so peacefully, Johnny doesn't want to disturb him, so he settles in closer, as close as he can without bothering Kun. Then he falls asleep, joining Kun in his nap. They still have enough time, anyway.

At the end of his seventeenth summer, Johnny learns what it means to love and be loved in return.

x

The sun has set on them a long, long while ago, but their night is still young as they walk home from the summer fair, their wet shirts and muddy shoes not even putting a slight damper on their plans.

"I hope we'll get to see the fireworks next year," Johnny says, his shoes squeaking against the pavement with every step he takes, his yellow sneakers stained beyond recognition a funny sight next to Kun's own less than pristine sneakers.

"Me too," Kun says a little wistfully, shivering as his shirt, soaked to the bone with dirty rainwater and stray blades of grass, dries in the hot summer night. "You'll be graduated by then."

Johnny laughs, a little sadly. "Maybe."

"Definitely," Kun says, cursing himself for even bringing it up. But it's inevitable, isn't it? Johnny's going to graduate before him, and he'll still have to finish his own senior year. 

Johnny only shrugs at that, the furrow of his brows telling Kun all he needs to know. He wants to shake Johnny up and tell him that he'll be fine, that he'll graduate and be everything he ever dreamed of being. Instead, he sneaks his hand into Johnny's, squeezing it with his own, walks next to him a little closer, his shoulder bumping against Johnny's arm. There's no one in the empty streets, anyway, save for the mosquitoes flying around and the moths fluttering in the bright street lights. 

"Even so, I hope we'll get to see them together," Johnny says after a while. He turns to Kun and grins widely, a bead of sweat (or maybe even rain?) rolls from his sideburns down to his neck. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

Kun grins back, nodding as his eyes dart between the stray droplet and Johnny's sparkling eyes.

There's a taxi approaching their part of the street, the headlights already encroaching their little piece of pavement from a distance. Johnny begins to untangle his fingers from Kun's own, but Kun presses a soft kiss in Johnny's palm before he let's go. 

Johnny blushes as he steps back. The taxi passes them by. "Kun-"

Kun sneezes right in Johnny's direction before he can finish his sentence. They share a look, and they both know he'll be ill come morning.

"What were you going to say?" Kun asks sheepishly, grimacing as he rubs his nose with the cleanest spot of his shirt. All his tissues already perished during Johnny's corndog eating binge earlier in the evening.

"Never mind that," Johnny says, wiping his face with the back of his arm. "You need a hot shower and ginger tea."

"Are you going to take care of me?" Kun sniffs.

"Of course, I am."

The way back to his apartment is long, but the late summer night is pleasantly warm. The shirts on their backs are already dry by the time they reach Kun's apartment and Mr Joon, the old but painfully sweet night-shift doorman ushers them inside just after 1 A.M. with an exasperated smile and firm instructions to wash up and go to bed before they catch a cold.

But sure enough, Kun wakes up clammy with a sore throat and a splitting headache. 

He tries to get up, but he finds that he can't move, too tightly wrapped up in multiple blankets and too fuzzy headed to find a way out of them. He groans, feeling a heavy weight on his legs and when he finally manages to lift his head to see over the mountain of blankets, he sees Johnny's big head resting on his legs like a paperweight. Johnny has pulled his chair from his desk, sleeping at the bedside instead of on his left where he's taken residence for the summer. Honestly, Kun doesn't even remember going to bed. Johnny must've tucked him in.

Slowly, sluggishly, Kun worms his hand out of the cocoon of blankets, straining to reach out to the silken strands of Johnny's brown hair. His pinky finger just barely managing to brush against Johnny's sensitive earlobe warm to the touch by sleep, and Johnny stirs.

It's a careful process. First, he rubs his face into the comforter with a sigh, groaning softly as he shifts, the desk chair creaking beneath him. Then, he flops his head to the side, his left eye popping open to squint at Kun. He smiles.

"Hey, you're awake," Johnny rasps out, shuffling closer into Kun's hand still at his ear. "How are you feeling?"

"Achy," Kun manages to say over the lump in his throat, pinching Johnny's cheek, full of sleep lines in funny patterns. "Come to bed with me, it's still early."

Johnny swats at his fingers with a yawn before standing up, his back cracking as he stretches in the relative darkness of the room. Kun winces at the sound, but Johnny pays it no heed when he bows over him to pull up his blanket, making sure that his neck isn't exposed. "Sleep some more. I'll be in the living room."

"Don't go," Kun pleads, his head barely peeking through the pile of blankets Johnny's just rearranged. "Please? I'm lonely without you."

"No," Johnny says firmly, maybe even scoldingly Kun can't really tell anymore because his brain is full of marbles. But Johnny runs his fingers through the mess of his hair scattered on the pillow beneath him. "You need to rest."

Kun can already see it in Johnny's eyes, though, even through his headache, that he's made up his mind to join him. So, he chases after Johnny's hand, all tangled up in his hair and pulls him closer, effectively trapping him against him.

Johnny sighs at his antics, a little resigned but full of fondness as he bites his cheek to stop himself from laughing. "Gimme my hand back and I'll join you."

Kun squints at Johnny. "Really?"

"Yeah," Johnny laughs.

Kun lets him go but doesn't hesitate to start whining again when Johnny begins to walk away. Johnny shushes him softly, whispering a sweet 'it's okay, I'm coming back, promise' before rounding the bed and making his way to the bedroom windows. Outside, the birds have started to sing their morning songs, the sound only intensifying when Johnny cracks a window wide open. Kun watches on as the golden rays of the sun bathe Johnny with their warmth through his thin Wolverine pyjama shirt. He can already imagine the rich scent of the early morning mixing together with Johnny's own spices. Can’t wait to smell it on his own sheets.

Johnny turns around, then, right when Kun finishes dragging his body upright to see him better, to wait for him to come back to bed, blearily patting down his hair he just knows is sticking out like crazy. Johnny doesn't move.

"You coming?" Kun asks, cocking his head before coughing a little at the dryness of his throat. 

Johnny moves at that, quickly stripping to his boxers and slipping into bed with Kun, but turned away from him.

Kun might have a headache, might feel so dizzy and disoriented that it takes him a little longer to register what's going on, but he knows Johnny just as well as Johnny knows him. He lies back down, slowly rolling over on his side to face the wide expanse of Johnny's back, to see the tension in his shoulders and the slight tremble of his frame. 

"Johnny," Kun whispers, scooting closer, his warm fingertips reaching over to rub at the wetness beneath Johnny's eyes, staining his cheeks, dripping down on his pillow. "Bad cry or good cry?"

"Good," Johnny says, sagging into his touch, his voice wobbling over the words, "It's good. I'm okay, don't worry."

Kun wants to scream sometimes. He wants to go after everyone who let Johnny hurt like this, he wants to go after them for not protecting him when he needed to be protected, for not loving him when that's all he ever wanted. Who wouldn't want to have him close? This boy who writes songs about strangers smiling at him in the streets, or a shiny pebble he'd found on a stormy day, who composes songs on a hot summer morning before Kun can even take a bite of his cereal and then goes around writing another song about quiet summer mornings with a lover eating their cereal. Johnny, who's barely more than a kid masquerading as an adult, hardened by those around him and yet can't help but cry when he's overcome with happiness. Kun wants to let them all know that they're nothing more than a bunch of idiots, too caught up in their own insecurities to see what matters most, what has been in front of them all along.

But he knows he can't do any of that. Whatever he does can't undo all of Johnny's hurts. So, he does what he can and closes in, wraps himself around Johnny as best as he can and kisses his shoulder, the crook of his neck, the whorl atop his head. Then, he buries his face in his pillow before Johnny can feel his own tears.

x

There are these teens, barely fifteen or maybe sixteen at most, who frequent the cafe during Kun's shifts. They come by often enough that he knows their usual orders by heart; two medium-sized iced americanos, two pumps of vanilla for the tall kid, and one with three shots of espresso for the other. The window booth near the entrance is their preferred table, enough natural light comes in just the perfect way for one of the girls to sketch, or sometimes even water paint. (Kun imagines that she picks her medium depending on her mood of that day.) But the taller girl is less particular; she'll go wherever the shorter one goes, trailing right behind her, staring holes into her shoes, and shyly hiding her face whenever they come up to the bar to order.

He's certain they skip school most days since there is no way that two sixteen-year-olds don't have classes to attend on Wednesdays at ten in the morning. But he's also certain that they won't get into much trouble, if at all. The bright red and gold emblem of the local high school for the elites embroidered on their uniform blazers tells him that their parents can buy their way in and out of anything.

Kun'd know since his own parents had wanted to send him to the same school almost four years ago. He'd spun a bullshit story on drug abuse rates among wealthy teens and his own unfortunate calculation of the likelihood that he'd join their coked-up ranks if they made him enrol. After all, mom had just come back from a 'sabbatical' at the rehab clinic, and his dad had never been shy about popping benzos or other happy pills in front of him. He'd understood, though, that these were merely the tools that some adults needed to successfully manage their combined pharmaceutical empires, or what have you. But his parents didn't know that his threats were empty. All they had to know was that he'd rather OD, or fake one, than spend another two and a half years with snooty kids who he couldn't even afford to ignore lest his parents find out through the golden grapevine.

In hindsight, his parents must've relented on the matter because they just wanted the conversation to end, too eager to return to their usual schedules and jet setting their own separate ways, far, far away from him. Which was fine, really. What mattered most was that Kun got his way. It's easier being a Qian around people who don't know what that entails. Being a teenager was hard enough already. 

It seems that it hasn't become any easier over the years, though. High school must still be absolute hell for most teens across time and space judging from the miserable looks on the girls' faces when they stumble inside the cafe, only regaining some of their youthful joy when they've gulped down half of their americanos. The tall one will grab her homework - Kun actually suspects she does homework for the both of them - and the shorter one will grab her sketchbook. They'll both pretend they aren't spending most of that time making googly eyes at one another, and Kun will do his best to hide his own smile behind the counter while he slaves away at his own college papers in between orders. They'll exchange pens and pencils even though their own pencil cases are filled to the brim, and their furtive glances and uncertain touches as they let each other taste their coffees (even though their orders never change) skirt right on that scary edge between friendship and adoration. It reminds Kun of how Johnny and he used to be.

He still dreams about their time together, however little it was. Kun can never quite recall how the dreams start, but it's like he's right there when he closes his eyes: the warmth of the sun filtering through the apartment windows, the faint smell of iron on Johnny's fingertips, and the salty-sweet taste of timid kisses on the balcony after midnight in the sweltering heat. Visions of cold fingers slowly warming around steaming cups of hot chocolate and dark, dark coffee in the corner booth they both preferred, moaning about all the homework they have to do while their umbrellas dry at their shoes. The feeling of Johnny's hand gripping his arm before he slips in the snow, breath hot on his cheek, or even the smell of the flowers on the cusp of blooming near the old gymnasium where they had their first kiss. It'll take him the entire morning for the shattering sound of the never-ending midsummer rain, still lingering in his ears long after he's woken up, to leave his mind and finally let him go.

Kun thought at the time that he knew how it'd end, the two of them. Looking back on it now, though, its almost painfully obvious that he knew nothing at all. But they were together for a little while, and it had been okay.

Still, however good it may have been, he hopes it'll end a little better for these girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a reminder that i do not publish unhappy endings :-) sorry for all the trauma and also sorry @ johnkuns real parents I hope they never see this. also sorry for all the mistakes but i just dont beta bc im me.
> 
> I hope that you liked this chapter! be well i love u see u soon.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/19250520x)


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